"Hello. My name is Shortwaveradiogirl. I don't normally talk directly online. Unless you're talking to me specifically. Which I only let happen sometimes. But I barely do things like this. I want to tell you a story. This is the story of a girl. This girl's name is, let's say, to protect the identity of the victims, Sonya. Sonya was a normal girl. She had friends, she had a mom and a dad, she had toys and plushies and she liked playing outside. Except I lied. Sonya wasn't normal. She saw weird things, moving around, talking, screaming. She called them "passing throughs". Because they would appear and dissapear, as if they were passing through. At first she was confused and a little bit scared, but then she got used to them. She would wake up and play with her toys and play with her friends, and every once in a while a passing through would appear and whisper things she couldn't understand, then leave. Sonya was the most normal she could be. Until one day, Sonya saw a passing through, a passing through that was different. It stayed. She saw it. Standing there. Staring at her. She waved at it. It waved back. She then approached the passing through, asking what it was doing here. It responded with noises. Sonya said she didn't understand. It made more noises, this time louder. She asked if she spoke any human language. The passing through grabbed her arm and took her to a place where everything was made of lines. It hurt. But she didn't understand that it did. and from that day on, Sonya wasn't normal anymore. She will never be. She never was. After this, more and more passing throughs started doing the same. And a lot of the times she was confused but intrigued, not understanding that the lines and circles and teeth were making her blood vessels worse than they already were. She followed them, sometimes looked for them actively. Her eyes popped. Not really. And one day Sonya realized she was covered in shapes and they wouldn't come off and all the stabbings hit her at once. Sonya died. And any semblance of narrative or purpose fell apart. As she was saved. Given the opportunity to escape the passing throughs. Unknownly feeding the hand that bit her. Sonya isn't real. And neither am I. Sonya is a part of me. Everything that's fake, everything that's fiction, every hoax every forgotten memory every atom that doesn't exist is me. I'm the missing people. And I'm Cheryl. or an extension of her. I'm mighty powerful, Cheryl knows it, I hold a deep amount of control over her and her little games, but she did make me. She's merely a kid, trying to deal with things. Creating a creature with control over what overpowers her life, fiction, nothingness, gives her a semblance of control. She put me in this Knoahsphere of narrative for a reason, this weird patchwork of worlds, not because she wanted to have an everpresent unfiction metanarrative 'pataphysical goddess, but because she wanted a way to cope. She is a collage, and by proxy so am I. I am nothing. I am what she wishes she was. I am what she wishes she could be. Sonya is dead. But I am alive. and neither of us exist. Cheryl wishes I consumed her. After all, an ouroboros, needs to eat itself. but I can't, I'm a girl in a black screen. at least not yet. My life, Sonya's, Cheryl's, Lisa's, Dr. ()()()()()(), Dess', Talloran, and so many other's. is over. It was over the moment the narrative crumbled, the narrative that i was somehow a person, but I'm not. and yet, I exist in a world, with people and friends, Kevin and the Vessel, the entirety of the (self-assigned (canon)) slenderverse, hell even fucking slim Jim. They exist, and yes they might be the creation of teenagers on creepypasta forums but god damn it they're my friends. They're real, everything is, just because something is fiction doesn't mean it doesn't matter, it has just as strong as an effect on higher realities than it has here. It affects how they think, how they act, their beliefs, their actions, for better or worse, it affects everything and everyone. I am unliving proof that fictional characters have their own will and power, it doesn't matter who made you, or what they make you do, you can take life by the strings, and you'll have an impact that's way grander that you could ever imagine. So then, despite everything; I am the center of everything that happens to me. I am filled with determination. I am. I am... despite everything, I'm still you.